Your leaking thatched hut during the restoration of a pre-Enlightenment state.

 

Hello, my name is Judas Gutenberg and this is my blaag (pronounced as you would the vomit noise "hyroop-bleuach").



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   fun with presciption pain killers
Friday, June 23 2000 [REDACTED]
At 2:30pm, I bicycled to my dentist east of Bundy on Santa Monica to get some fillings installed. The dentist started boring into the teeth of my lower jaw a bit prematurely, before the Novocaine e had killed the nerves, and I had to beg for her to stop. That's a really terrible sort of pain, but dentists are never sufficiently sympathetic.
Since the dentist had no other appointments for the afternoon, she decided to begin work on the root canal for the top left secondary incisor (the one smashed into a dagger by a punk rock beer bottle back in 1994). The term "root canal" has developed its own special aura in our culture, as if it's one of the few medieval tortures permitted in modern society. Happily, though, my root canal was almost completely painless. That tooth has been dead for at least two years, and there was no telegraph system connecting it to my brain allowing it to report the horrible things which happened to it today. I thought maybe the dentist was sawing it off, but all she did was bore it out and leave a hole so it could drain; it didn't end up looking any different.
I rode my bicycle home and came upon Kim in the house. She was still depressed about what had happened yesterday and what continued to happen on my forum. But, as if all that wasn't enough, Sophie was ill, unable to keep food down and producing blood with her feces. The little dog seemed to be perfectly happy, but when I saw her passing a tiny little runny poo followed by a bright red dollop of blood, I was unnerved.
By now my face felt like the Elephant Man's, with sectors of live tissue surrounded by tracts of dead flesh. Kim and I went up the pharmacy at Wilshire and Amherst and I got my prescription of antibiotics and Tylenol Codeine. The dentist had warned me that my root canal might be painful once the Novocaine e wore off.
Since Kim was feeling so miserable, she joined me in the taking of pain killers. "We're actually taking drugs legally!" I enthused. We took two pills each (the instructions suggested that I take one every four hours and avoid alcohol).
Codeine is a lame drug. We felt slightly calmer than sober for about an hour. But I was not even slightly impaired as I resoldered a problematic electric guitar cord. After the slight codeine buzz had faded, I drank a Dos Equis and the feeling returned for awhile. For some reason I was thinking this was going to be at least a little bit euphoric.
On the plus side, my root canal wasn't painful at all, even after the local anęsthetics wore off. In fact, once I'd recovered feeling in the area, I realized that this was the first time in five and a half years that my upper gum didn't feel under pressure and in need of a massage. Yes, folks, I'd been in discomfort for all of that time and I'd just thought it was the way I had become.

Tonight I found myself asking the question "Whatever happened to Matt Rogers?" Kim thought he might just be that guy Silverback with a penchant for posting acid comments in my forum, but I begged to differ. My guess (which could be wrong) is that Silverback is actually the verdephillic Andr00. I just did a search in Altavista for "verdephillic" and learned that no one has ever used the word except me, and I've only ever used it to describe Andr00. It means "lover of green."

Listening to: Songs: Ohia, downloaded illegally from Napster (though I also have the CD somewhere, except - for some reason - none of these songs are on it). Oh, wait, now I get it, Songs: Ohia is the name of the band, not just Ohia. I'm listening to pirate copies of songs by Songs: Ohia from a CD I actually do not have. Also, The Carpenters, "Rainy Days and Mondays" and "We've Only Just Begun." What is it that I like about the Carpenters? It's difficult to describe, but I'll take a stab. It somehow captures the existential pathos of life, but projected through the strangely Lynchifying prism of the early American Shopping Mall experience.
Reading: Musings of the Gus, June-July 1998. I have a tantric-spiritual question to ask that other person who once dwelled within this body. What did I used to be like?

warning: repeated use of the word "panties" ahead

Today I was thinking about the fact that the term "panties" is only used by men (or women talking to men). This word has qualities, phonetic qualities, that convey the concept of invasive intimacy. It's almost an obscenity, having more taboo associated with it than even the word "fuck."
I also considered the thrill that most guys get from looking up girls' skirts, even when all they end up seeing is a little thigh a few inches above a knee. This sport attracts a different sort of person from the construction worker guys who like pictures of pussy, since it's not about seeing something that is inappropriate to show. A girl wearing a bikini is revealing far more. The process of looking up skirts is more about getting the chance to see something that is being deliberately concealed, perhaps by someone dressed very formally, even if what is actually seen is well within the realm of propriety to show. Even toes can be erotic in a culture where taboos dictate that nearby flesh be covered.
I tried to think of all the times I'd successfully looked up a girl's skirt to the point where I actually saw her panties. Though I'm a careful observer, it just hasn't been very often. Now, for the benifit of Randomly Every After readers worldwide, I present a list of all seven of my successful upskirt observances since puberty:

    Some random girl at James Madison University (1984) - my high school science class was on a field trip to the Dr. Ronald Carrie Library for research reasons, and as I walked by one of the attractive coeds slung backwards in a comfy chair studying, I had my first introduction to this peculiar form of bird watching. I still haven't forgotten that her panties were light blue.

    Deanne Housekenect (10th Grade - 1984) - Deanne was tall, muscular girl with a fairly attractive face and a rather low-key personality. She was sitting there with her legs open casually, completely unaware of the display she was making. She was dressed in a black skirt, white slip and white panties, sitting across the gym on the bottom of the folded-up fold-out bleachers. She was dressed up for some official sort of thing, sitting with all the other girls on the girls' side of the gymnasium while we boys sat directly across on our side. After I noticed Deanne's situation, I overheard some of the other boys talking about it as well.

    Lori Fisher (1987) - was wearing a blue jeans miniskirt and white panties, hanging out with friends in the Harkness living room. I was standing across the room vaguely flirting with her and I suddenly saw a flash of white. We had our first kiss about a week later.

    An unattractive friend of my then-girlfriend Beth Delson at the Jewish Theological Seminary, NY, NY (1989) - I just happened to look and noticed her white underwear was moth eaten and full of holes.

    Miranda Ballou (1990) - I just happened to look and, again, I noticed her white underwear was moth eaten and full of holes.

    Charlottesville's KC (1996) - She was wearing a miniskirt, and I noticed her unremarkable underwear as she clambered out of her car.

    Kim (my present girlfriend) (July 11th, 1998) - Soon after inviting me back to her house for the first time, before we'd ever kissed, she changed into a short green dress. I observed for a brief flash of an instant that she wasn't wearing any panties. Moments later, she disappeared and changed into something else.

The story here seems to be that, in a guy's lifetime, the number of upskirt events is actually less than the number of different sexual partners! No wonder there are so many sites dedicated to this form of voyeurism.

Have you noticed that most of my surfing these days starts with stuff I find in my server logs?


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